


Unearthed

by Trekkiechick



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives Except Bilbo, Gen, sorry bout it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkiechick/pseuds/Trekkiechick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All was well in Erebor. Until it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unearthed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a MILLION YEARS AGO and shoved it in someone's submit on tumblr anonymously because I'm the worst. Allow me to share my awfulness. I live for Thorin-pain.
> 
> -shrugs-

The last time Thorin ever saw the hobbit - and wasn’t it silly to call him the hobbit, when they’d seen so many on that night in the Shire?

Anyway, the last time had been up on that wretched old guard-post, once called Ravenhill, now called salôn-uzn, or Darkfall in the common tongue. It had earned the name. The Crown Prince had taken the blow that confined him to a wheeled chair there and his brother had very nearly been among the dead that lay at the summit. The King Under the Mountain had defeated his line’s bane there, very nearly losing his own life, and there broken free of his grandfather’s sickness at last. It was, unofficially, the site that the battle had been won.

Still, Thorin couldn’t help but think of it as the place where he had parted from the smallest member of their company. The accursed hobbit had managed, against all odds, to make his way up there in time to warn them of Bolg’s approaching force, just in time for them to regroup and push for victory under the loud cries of Manwe’s eagles. That selfless act had given Thorin the hope that he may yet seek forgiveness from their burglar, but he had never turned up after the battle. Probably gone off home with the wizard, Dwalin had dismissed, shrugging, and Thorin was inclined to agree. Even among the hundreds of corpses left behind, a tiny furry-footed creature in a shirt of mithril would have been hard to miss. And, as Kili had reminded him quite scathingly upon waking in the healer’s tent, Master Baggins had quite clearly been told never to return.

Thorin had put it out of his mind. Yes, he had recovered enough from the dragon-sickness to recognize how he’d endangered his family so by placing their lives beneath the worth of the Arkenstone, and had buried the wretched gem - not without a twinge of longing - beneath the heavy stone carved with the names of those that perished in dragonfire. Yes, old wrongs had been revisited and righted with gold and with talk, and the relations with the Lakemen and Men of Dale was cordial bordering on friendly. Even trade with Mirkwood was grudgingly agreed upon by both sides. And yes, after being thumped soundly by his baby sister, Thorin considered that his due penance had been done. But all the same, he would not be the one to approach Master Baggins. He’d seen the look in those big frightened eyes - no, any missive from him would not be welcomed by the hobbit he’d wronged so.

It did hurt Kili that his messages to Bag End went unanswered, and Ori’s ravens returned with their letters still tied to their legs, and that the incoming caravans from the Blue Mountains could find no ‘Bilbo Baggins’ living in Hobbiton on their way through. Thorin thought - rather sourly - that their burglar must have made a new home among the elves that he was so taken with, and tried not to begrudge him that.

Years passed quickly. Between restoring Erebor and forming new alliances and establishing their political and military presence in Middle Earth, it was several years before the hobbit concerned Thorin beyond a passing thought. And, of course, the disruption came from Gandalf.

“Tharkun,” Thorin greeted, nodding to the approaching wizard from his throne. “It has been years. To what-”

“Enough of that,” the old man interrupted, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he cast his eyes around the court, taking in the sight of Dwalin and Kili flanking the throne, with Fili being wheeled around the throne by his betrothed to grin up at the wizard. “Let there be no titles between us, old friend. I simply want news - you dwarrows and your secrecy, I hear barely a peep out of Erebor without coming here myself! Come, where are the rest? I’ve not seen you since your charge from the gates.”

Thorin’s impassive expression softened somewhat, and he nodded in acknowledgement. This was enough signal for Kili to grin and leap down next to Fili, bowing to Gandalf with a cheerful ‘at your service!’ as his uncle spoke up again. “You did leave rather suddenly, but I must admit, I do not regret that you missed my coronation. There was scarcely the time to recover from the battle when I found myself with a crown on my head, still laying in the healing chambers.”

The princes leaned in conspiratorially, murmuring to the wizard.

“He was barely lucid-”

“-entirely under the spell of poppy milk-”

“-still needed help eating-”

“-and every time he needed a wash-”

“-Oin had to get a sponge and bucket-”

“Enough,” Thorin snarled, though there was an upward twitch of his lips as he raised an eyebrow down at the boys. “He has asked for news, not your slander. Were you not my heirs…” Behind him, Dwalin snorted, growling something about the princes’ mother, and Thorin turned to regard him with their comfortable old familiarity. At Gandalf’s chortling, the King turned back, shaking his head. “It would seem I am alone in this. In any case, it is good to see you, Gandalf.” Something approaching a smile settled on Thorin’s face. “As for news, there is too much to be spoken of here. Will you be staying long? We ought to assemble the company for the evening meal.”

“The whole company!” Kili agreed, beaming. “Have you brought our burglar? We haven’t seen him or heard from him since the battle-”

“-and we owe him our apologies,” Fili added, somewhat sheepishly, “He left all his things here, and without his share-”

But Gandalf’s face had hardened at the mention of Bilbo, and Thorin took over once again. “There is no danger to him here,” the dwarven King assured, his nephew’s mouths snapping shut. “I would take back my words and deeds toward him, would that I could. He seems as hard to find as ever. Even our ravens-”

“I did assume,” the grey wizard murmured, his stony expression turning to one of puzzlement, “That our Mister Baggins had stayed here, under the mountain. I have seen nothing of him since he followed you up to Ravenhill, and I can assure you that he has not returned to the Shire or to Rivendell.”

“He has not been seen in Dale or Laketown either,” Thorin returned, feeling a familiar worry uncurling in his chest. “If not with you, then-?”

The wizard looked pensive. Though he could not see him, Thorin could tell that Dwalin had tensed. Even the princes looked rather lost.

“We must return to that place,” Gandalf decided at last, his grip on his staff tightening. “I may be able to trace… have you anything of his, anything he kept close?”

For a moment, Thorin had an absurd thought of years ago, of seeing a hesitantly smiling face and a tiny seed in the palm of a pale hand.

“He left his things,” Fili suggested, bringing Thorin back to the present even as Kili dashed off to ask after their burglar’s pack. Thorin recalled guiltily the day they’d found the little rucksack, knowing that he’d tossed their friend out with nothing but harsh words and a little Elvish blade. Pushing off from the throne, he followed Kili, calling to Dwalin that open court would resume the next day.

It took hours to track down their hobbit’s things, but finally Thorin stood atop the chilly cliff with Kili, Dwalin, Balin, Dori, Ori, Bofur, Gloin, and the wizard. Gandalf looked vexed at having such a large troupe of dwarves clomping along behind him, but he’d been unable to refuse after the members of the company had seen the wizard in the halls and followed him, shouting greetings and accusations. Thorin thought it unlikely that they’d been informed of their mission at Ravenhill, seeing them standing around complaining of the cold and badgering Gandalf for news. Left well alone - for once - Thorin broke off and wandered, looking over the old ruin.

With all the construction needed within the mountain, this site of Azog’s defeat had been largely abandoned, aside from one monument that Thorin had forged himself. The bladed arm of the pale orc, still stained with the blood of them both, had been melted down and formed carefully into the crest of the line of Durin, and Thorin had mounted it on the stone platform overlooking the frozen river where their duel had taken place. Quite by accident, he found himself there now, looking down over the ice blankly. Dimly, he registered the sounds of the other dwarves, spreading out among the old crumbled buildings and searching - for what was unknown, though it was likely that Gandalf had simply tired of them and given them some meaningless task.

Thorin turned to make his way back to the wizard, but was distracted by a sound of wonder. From his vantage point on the platform, he could see Bofur and Dori looking at - a tree?

He made his way over, Dwalin falling into step with him, Kili racing ahead. Even Gandalf looked intrigued. So much of the mountainside was still desolate, though there had been a heroic effort at farming in the lands outside Dale. Yet here was a determined little sapling, barely taller than he himself, and Thorin could not understand it. He did not have long to dwell on this.

There was a choked noise from Dori, who staggered back even as Bofur fell to his knees, clawing at the base of the tree. Dwalin stopped short, looking wary. Balin and Gloin, who hadn’t been far, looked over curiously. But by far the worst was Kili, who’d reached the tree just moments before, and seemed unable to process what he was seeing. Wordlessly, he bent and pulled a half-buried object from the frozen earth, shaking it free and holding it up to Thorin for an explanation.

It glittered, even with soil clinging to it.

A shirt of mithril mail, gleaming in the weak winter sun.

Kili dropped it as if burned, eyes wide, and Thorin had paused, unable to process what had just happened. There was a yelp, and suddenly Bofur had sprang back, his face as white as the unearthed bones he had discovered among the roots of the little tree, and Dori was retching, and Kili was trembling, and Gandalf was striding forward with a look of pained disbelief on his face, and-

For a moment, Thorin had an absurd thought of years ago, of seeing a hesitantly smiling face and a tiny seed in the palm of a pale hand.

 

A golden ring winked up at the King Under the Mountain.

**Author's Note:**

> -SHRUGS AGAIN- I DUNNO MAN.  
> Maybe nothing happened. Gandalf took the ring and LOTR canon kept on truckin'. They buried Bilbo in the mountain and Thorin angsted a lot.
> 
> .........or maybe Thorin took the ring for himself. Gold-sickness + ring-influence = ??????? (Spoiler alert - nothing good.)
> 
> Probably won't be continued.
> 
> Also I bullshitted the Khuzdul. Sorry.


End file.
